Page 34 of Down in Flames

“What do you need?”

Michael stroked his thumb across his cheek. “Just you,” he said thickly, “by my side like you’ve always been. I already know you’d never lie to me.”

West didn’t flinch. That was the worst of it. He’d been lying by omission his entire life. It didn’t even feel like lying anymore.

“Never,” he promised.

They dozed a little, but they were too focused on talking and touching to get much sleep. West wasn’t tired. He was flying.

They crept across the yard just as the blue light of dawn began to break through the clouds. Frost cracked beneath their boots, and Michael warmed his hands by slipping them teasingly into West’s back pockets.

“Winter came on fast,” he remarked, nuzzling his cold nose into the back of West’s neck.

“Susan’s kids were playing in the hose just the other day,” West said.

Michael grunted and turned away to start up the coffee pot. He wasn’t looking at him when he asked, “You going to take it easy on the broncs now?”

“What?” West froze in his search of the cabinets. He’d known his way around the old house like it was his own, but everything was just slightly off in the new place. "Why would I do that?”

Michael shrugged, elaborately casual. “It’s heading into the off-season. Not many local rodeos until spring.”

“Yeah.” But West knew there was more to it than that, and he wondered if Michael thought a few orgasms were enough to get him to settle down. Something inside him squirmed anxiously at the thought of losing the best outlet he’d ever found.

“Might do you some good to take a break. Heal up. You ever consider getting some pointers from Cal or Tucker?”

West laughed. “Tuck’s job is to keep horses so calm they don’t buck in the first place. What’s he going to teach me?”

“How to stay on?” Michael asked dryly. His eyes flickered pointedly over the fading bruises on West’s face.

It stung, allowing the man he admired so much to believe he was inept, but there was no way he could explain. Not without sounding like a lunatic.

“What about your dad?" Michael asked. "Does he ever talk about his old career?”

He froze with his hand on a jar of powdered creamer, staring blankly. “Can’t say we talk about much of anything,” he said softly. “Besides, I’ll always be the baby of the family. They already fuss too much.”

He heard a rustle and sensed Michael’s presence behind him, but he didn’t look up. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, and he let out a startled breath. Hesitantly, he curled one hand around Michael’s wrist and squeezed.

“Never too late to start talking,” Michael suggested, his voice warm in the shell of West’s ear. “Not while you’re both breathing.”

Before he could reply, a startled squeak had both their heads cranking around. Abigail stood in the kitchen doorway, clad in pink pajamas, with her hair piled like a cinnamon bun on top of her head. Derek’s puppy cavorted at her ankles, chewing on the hem of her pajamas and shaking its head back and forth.

West nearly hit the stratosphere. He would have jumped right out of his skin if it weren’t for the way Michael held him. Michael was practically vibrating with tension; he could feel it humming where they pressed together. But he didn't pull away, and he didn't allow West to act guilty either. When West scrambled to jerk free of his embrace, Michael only gave him a subtle warning squeeze.

“Morning, pumpkin,” Michael said easily, waiting until his daughter returned his smile before finally releasing West. He strolled over to her and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Let me grab a shower, and then I’ll make us pancakes.”

“West is still here!” she cried delightedly, smiling bright as the sun and doing a squirmy little dance in place. She didn't seem to find it unusual, but then, work on a ranch never quit. Cowboys came and went at all hours of the day and night.

She dodged past her father, barely acknowledging him, and threw her arms around West’s waist, shouting, “Oh, good! Can you take me to school today?”

With a wink, Michael vanished down the hall, and West was left excruciatingly aware that he smelled of sex. He lifted the collar of his shirt and gave a discreet sniff, but all he smelled was Michael.

“Don’t you catch the bus?” he asked, giving the little girl a squeeze. She didn’t take the hint, clinging to him tighter than ever, as if afraid he might disappear. “Let a man breathe, sweetheart,” he said, laughing as he shimmied out of her stick-thin arms.

“I don’t like the bus,” Abby pouted. “Noah Collins always sits behind me, and he calls me cow girl.”

“You are a cowgirl,” West pointed out.

“Not like that,” she insisted, sniffing disdainfully.

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